


Insatiable

by UnholyPlumpPrincess



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Biting, Bloodhound Headcanons (Apex Legends), Bloodhound has a vulva (Apex legends), Blow Jobs, Bruises, Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, Friends With Benefits, Kissing, Knifeplay, Multi, Neck Kissing, Other, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 00:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21519292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyPlumpPrincess/pseuds/UnholyPlumpPrincess
Summary: Bloodhound was an enigma and a mystery that anyone would be interested to solve. Caustic was no exception from this interest. What he never would have expected, however, was the relationship he developed with the hunter.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Caustic | Alexander Nox, Implied Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt, Implied Caustic | Alexander Nox/Octane | Octavio Silva
Comments: 1
Kudos: 52





	Insatiable

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see more of my work you can see my tumblr @Sinningplumpprincess

Bloodhound was an enigma and a mystery that anyone would be interested to solve. Caustic was no exception from this interest. What he never would have expected, however, was the relationship he developed with the hunter. 

It turns out that ‘The Hunter the Gods Have Sent’ was touch starved, not to mention sexually pent up. It took a bit of prodding, but he’d finally hit that little switch on them. It had happened outside of the rings in the legends’ compound, when Alexander had prodded with a “Or are you perhaps sexually frustrated and that is why you are so aggressive?”, loudly announcing his curiosity. And they had, in their embarrassment, slammed him to the wall. Their petite frame against his and low snarls behind their helmet. 

There was underlying tension throughout anything they did with Alexander around. It hadn’t taken long to convince them. No strings attached, no romance, just two legends working out frustrations. Or rather, Bloodhound working out their frustration, and Alexander offering- gleefully- to be their personal little fuck toy. Bloodhound had scoffed at him at first, claimed they didn’t need him nor anyone to be their pet. 

Yet, the more they had thought on it, it certainly did benefit them both, didn’t it? 

Romance was something Alexander wouldn’t consider with Bloodhound. No, they were far too skittish and preferred to not get into anything too deep. Often times he’d be on his knees, looking up to them with adoration and submission in his eyes and that’s all that they needed. He couldn’t say that he disagreed with the terms, considering he was purely delighted for someone to have the reigns on him, so to speak. 

Bloodhound was unique in many ways. And one big one being how they liked to surprise him at every turn. 

An example of this is today, both of them are in the arena and working on this season’s killings. They’re on opposite teams, but Caustic knows very well that he’s being watched. He can feel the prickling up the back of his neck of a predator’s gaze watching his every move. His own squad mates had been Octane and Bangalore, moving ahead while he lingered behind for loot and stragglers. Bloodhound’s team had consisted of Mirage and a newbie. 

Caustic knew from prior encounters and a confession that Bloodhound enjoyed hunting him in the ring. He was easy prey, they had put it while holding him down with his throat one night. Telling him that he made beautiful sounds while he died. 

He’d be lying if he said that hadn’t turned him on. 

The competition of the season, however, is what keeps him from just allowing them to have him. Not to mention they wouldn’t be interested if he just rolled belly up and LET them have him however they pleased. They had made this clear when they told each other little bits of kinks and interests. Caustic certainly liked to submit, but he did not like giving it up so willingly without a bit of a fight. 

The firefight that inevitably comes is well fought. The newbie is taken down by Bangalore, only for her to get tricked by a decoy and taken out of the equation by Mirage’s hand. Octane does pretty well in running circles around Bloodhound to distract them, but inevitably gets downed and finished by a swift and merciful hand. 

Caustic’s NOX grenade does a good job in capturing the newbie and Mirage off guard. With low health and no armor, it doesn’t take them long to get knocked and finished with his peacekeeper. It’s truly his mistake, in the end, to not pay attention to where his little hunter has gone. That is, until he hears the click nearby of a magazine being dropped and the loud, thunderous snarl. 

He whips around at the ready to fire, not expecting them to be so close as they mow him down with their spitfire. Bloodhound’s eyes glow fiery red behind their goggles, the huffing snarls exhaling from them being helped by the Allfather’s blessings coursing through their veins. 

They’re the only two left on each team. 

He’s downed in one of the buildings, propping himself up on the inner wall of the building in the darker corner, panting as he holds his wound. Bloodhound approaches like a starved predator, each calculated step pounded to the floor to make them sound bigger. Caustic can’t help but grin, wheezing out a laugh, “And how do you intend on finishing this, little hunter?” A taunt passing from him. Perhaps not his smartest of things to say. 

There were no cameras in the corners of these buildings. They both knew this. 

Bloodhound doesn’t speak, not at first. Instead, they drop on top of him, straddling his hips and use their gear to their advantage, as it makes them heavier. He grunts in turn, letting himself slump flat against the floor when their knees dig into his hands to keep them against the floor and away from his weapons. They follow the action by removing his gas mask and at least have the kindness to set it to the side nearby instead of throwing it. 

With a slowness, they pull out their blade and point the tip below his chin, seeming to get a thrill when his breath hitches. They follow the point lazily down his neck to the top of his suit, cocking their head to the side softly in a gesture that reminds him of a large cat toying with their prey. His cock is fattening up in his suit, pressing eagerly to their ass, but they make no notion that they even notice it. 

Alexander is about to snap out a question, maybe dare them to stab him, but they just chuckle lowly. His mouth shuts just as they coo out. “Look at you, Alexander,” Their voice is low, dangerous with the way their helmet amplifies their tone. 

They drag the blade back up on the blunt edge, allowing it to scratch but not slice over his flesh. “You fought so well. And yet, you do not fight me now.” Bloodhound’s hips grind downwards harshly, right against where they feel him swell up. Grinning in their helmet like a feral beast when he groans and his head falls to the side. Too easy. 

“Ten squads left. You will let yourself be taken out this early?” Bloodhound continues to taunt, letting their blade come to the corner of his lips. It’s an unspoken thing, they’re telling him not to reply. It still makes him grunt under his breath, shuddering as they generously rock their hips against his crotch to keep him interested. 

When he does open his mouth after a moment, they snarl at him and bring the blade to his throat again. Letting the sharp edges bite at his soft flesh there. “Do not move, prey.” Their voice low and daring when he tries to flick his eyes up to them. He’s painfully hard now, cheeks dusted red and each breath comes out shaky. His hips ache to push up, aching to feel the heat so well hidden behind their layers, but he resists. Holding still. 

They wait for a moment, no words, letting him contemplate what they may want. It’s deathly still, until they hum and draw their blade away, sitting back on his crotch and making him groan in a strain. “I will offer you a trade,” They start, rolling their hips once more to give him an idea of what kind of trade. Alexander whines faintly in his throat, hands twitching under their knees. “You shall service me. Here. In the arena. And in turn, I shall allow you to continue to compete.” 

In the arena. In... the arena? Alexander’s mind slowly reels at the idea. It makes him whimper, the idea that anyone could catch them, the idea that the cameras could somehow be on in here for once. He knows, logically, Bloodhound would have ensured that that worry was eliminated. They didn’t want outsiders to have any hint of an idea of their image. Yet, he’s nodding quickly regardless in turn, pleading faintly. 

It’s with quickness that they move off him. Sheathing their blade as they work their tactical pants down eagerly to mid-thigh. Alexander, despite the pain, is able to drag himself up onto his knees, allowing himself to be moved deeper into the corner of the building. With one of Bloodhound’s gloved hands in his hair, he messily kisses up their inner thigh, nosing his way up with blurry eyes. His nose brushes their wet curls and much like a dog he uses his senses to guide him there. 

Bloodhound always tasted like a salty and tangy treat. His hands shake as they come up to grab their thighs, feeling Bloodhound brush his hair back from his face with a pleasured sigh. He’s quick to act, not playing around as his lips seal around their juicy clit. Already hard and reddened with arousal. His own cock strains, but after many times practicing, he can ignore it. For now. 

His tongue swipes from their hole up to their clit just to greedily get more of their juices. Alexander can only smirk when they snarl, tugging his hair to get him to where they wanted him the most. His tongue circles around their fat clit, nosing into their dark curls to inhale their scent as his lips seal back around it. With a few harsh sucks, they’re shaking, holding the back of his head with one hand as their hips hump against his face. 

When Bloodhound takes over, he’s smart enough to not resist them. Alexander parts his lips open, sure that his beard is rubbing their thighs uncomfortably yet they don’t seem to mind. He lets his tongue loll open, letting them fuck against his tongue as one of his hands moves from their thigh. He’s quick to throw his glove off to not get anything dangerous inside of them, just before he’s introducing two fingers to their entrance and pressing inside. Scissoring right away to strain them and quirking them up to rub with quickness at their frontal walls. 

The sounds they make, in turn, make Alexander moans against them. Their feral snarls fading off into soft, desperate noises as they hump against his face. Using his hair to guide him into licking harder where they wanted. 

When they cum, it’s with a soft shake of their body and frantic humping against his mouth and fingers. He fucks them harder with his fingers in turn, letting them ride it out until they slump back against the wall. They’re at least kind enough to pet his hair back, cooing softly about what a good job he did as they pull his head back to look at him. Alexander’s lips are flushed red, slick making his lips and chin glossy with some sticking to his mustache. They cup his cheek, using their thumb to wipe is off and pressing it back into his mouth, pressing hard down on his tongue in a way that makes his hips thrust into nothing. 

Without much more ceremony or formalities, they let him sit back on his knees and find his glove and mask again. Just as they pull back up their pants and their weaponry. They unclip the gold knockdown from their hip, throwing it on top of him and nudging him with their boot to get his attention as they walk past. 

“I do not miss, Caustic. Remember this when my bullet lands its mark.” A threat that they intend on finishing what they started. 

He couldn’t wait. 

\-- 

The champion is Bloodhound. Armed with a triple take and a spitfire for both close and long range battle. Caustic made it to top three, just in time to watch them take down the remaining squads and half watch them fight each other. In celebration, Mirage, who had been on their team and therefor was a champion as well, offers drinks at his bar. When Alexander hears Bloodhound accept, he’s quick to do so as well with a nonchalant shrug. Free drinks were free drinks. 

And any chance to see Bloodhound without their fancy helmet was always a treat. 

So, Alexander arrives at a decent time. Not late to the party but not early. The bar is a bit more club-like than he’s used to, with flashing lights and booths around the rooms. The big bar is beautiful in the center of the room, fit with many different drinks and glasses hanging about. He’d admit, Elliott had good decorating skills at least. Even with a few groups on the dancefloor eagerly moving bodies to the bass around them. 

He dresses simply but nicely with a nice fitting black t-shirt under a left open dark green and black flannel. His jeans are nicely fit, not quite skinny jeans and are of a dark fade. Glasses are perched on his nose, hair pushed back from his face as he greets the other legends at the larger booth. Anita, Ajay, Wraith, Octavio, and Elliott are all present already. Natalie isn’t too far behind as she eagerly sits next to Wraith and plants a kiss on her cheek at the same time Anita does to squish her cheeks together. Even Alexander can’t help but laugh. 

Steadily, more people join until just one is left. One he anxiously awaits. 

As they approach the table, Elliott is first to make their presence known with a low whistle under his breath. Alexander couldn’t blame him. They prowl towards the table, crimson curls pulled into a ponytail to reveal their shaved underside and pierced ears. Red tinted large glasses rest on their face, protecting their eyes from the bright flashes of lights. A black mask on their lower face is pulled over their nose with sharp white teeth and a filter on the side, a gift from Octavio he recognizes. 

On their body is a black tunic styled crop top with a leather jacket thrown over, dark raven feathers on the shoulders and fur on the inner lining at the neck. Tight leather pants and combat boots complete the look, fit with fingerless leather gloves and a black choker. 

Elliott sounds about breathless beside him as he guffaws when Bloodhound strolls up to the table. They apologize for their lateness, offering that Muninn and Arthur were none too happy to be put to bed early. Elliott is quick on his feet, pulling a chair out for them on the opposite side of the table so he could rest next to them and Octavio on the other side. Alexander directly in front of them. 

Bloodhound is sweet on Elliott, something that doesn’t bother Alexander considering they were in a no strings attached sort of relationship. He notes how they gently bow their head when Elliott compliments them before starting up friendly banter. Alexander can’t help it either, looking at Octavio who has his own mask tugged around his neck so he can down drinks. He’s talking a mile a minute, occasionally getting up to continue his story and throw out his arms as he speaks. 

Alexander can’t help but smile fondly at it. He’d admit, he liked the little spitfire, especially when his green streaked mohawk was as tousled as it was now and his shaved sides had grown out to a fuzzy texture. He pays far too much attention to the way Octavio, at some point, is talking to Ajay about their different transitions. Excitedly pulling up his own crop top to show his scars under his chest as Ajay sqwacks and flags for him to pull back down his shirt. To which he responds with his double pierced tongue sticking out and saying he paid good money to do that. 

It’s a nice outing for all of them. Bloodhound doesn’t drink, and Alexander hardly touches his own. More interested in listening in to the conversations going around the table and the laughter, especially the deep one near him from Makoa who holds his belly as he laughs. 

It’s all fun and games until halfway through taking a drink, Alexander feels a boot resting between his thighs across the table. Judging by the weight and the pressure of it and how Bloodhound is holding their cheek, not looking at him, he just knows it’s them. They look at Elliott as he takes another drink, obviously buzzed as he chats away with Octavio about their squad match together a few days ago. Both reenacting the scene of them shooting. Bloodhound lets out a soft chuckle among the rest of the laughter around the table, and Alexander only coughs out a sound. 

Pressure is applied more between his legs until he’s forced to shift in his spot, rocking his own hips into the boot as he grits his teeth. Alexander never got off earlier, didn’t have enough time between the game and then coming here. He’s easy to arouse, and with them doing it so nonchalantly in public? That’s just cold, even for them. 

Yet, he’s even more turned on. 

Alexander rolls his neck, and apparently seems a little tense because Octavio asks him if he’s alright. Reaching across the table to take Alexander’s hand that’s gripping the glass tight, laughing a bit and telling him he’ll break the glass. Alexander just might at feeling the cooler body temperature from Octavio and how he looks at him concerned. 

Just as the boot rolls its heel into him and he has to step up and excuse himself. Thankfully a few others do as well, saying they’re going to get more drinks. A perfect opportunity for him to grab Bloodhound’s arm and offer for them to come with him to gather drinks for each other as well, saying he’d like their recommendations. 

Lying through his teeth as he tries to conceal how hard he is in his jeans. Alexander can FEEL the smirk on their lips as they accompany him. Alexander doesn’t even play coy as he leads them through bodies, it’s easy to get lost, no one should miss them for a half an hour, yes? He could just say they wanted a smoke break or something. He’s so busy coming up with lies that he doesn’t realize he’s started gripping their arm harder as he leads them to the private restroom. 

As soon as the lock clicks into place, he’s shoving Bloodhound back against the door. “You little tease-” He hisses out, tugging their mask down and around their neck at the same time they push their glasses up to rest on the top of their head. He gets to peer at them, their blinded fiery eye, the dangerous ruby red sheen of the other. The way their full lips twist into a grin to show off the double set of sharp canines. 

He doesn’t get the upperhand, despite having them backed against the door. Their fingers twist into his shirt, their breath mingling from how close they are as Bloodhound slips a thigh between both of his legs. “Did I not tell you that I do not miss?” They tease back, eyes flickering down to his lips just as Alexander surges forward. 

There is no love in the kiss. It’s lust, hunger as their teeth click with his. Their pierced tongue licks its way into his mouth at the same time he grabs a handful of their plentiful ass, yanking them closer to his body and in turn grinding himself onto their thigh. Bloodhound moves with him, one hand moving from the grip on his shirt to instead twine into his hair and yanking it back a bit. Causing him to break from the kiss just as their teeth sink into his bottom lip and pull it softly. 

They let go, only to attack at his throat with a harsh bite to the junction. Bloodhound growls immediately to his huff of pleasure, suckling on the bite to leave a hickey as they force their thigh harder up against him. 

It’s messy and rough, just how Alexander liked it. Liking the way they snarl when he lifts them up against the door, effectively shifting to wind their legs around his waist. He keeps one arm braced on the door, hand fisted and his other on their ass. They keep a hand in his hair, teeth and lips on his neck as Alexander begins to thrust against them. The zipper on his jeans doing no favors for his confined cock and their leather pants doing no favors being so easy to slide against. They don’t get the friction they want, snarling against his neck and moving to his ear instead to nip at the lobe. 

With both their frustration at lack of friction, there’s a bit of a shift and tug until Bloodhound can unwind from him. They flip the script as soon as they have the upper hand, twisting Alexander until he’s pushed against the door. He’s about to complain, a snarl on his lips and managing to get out, “What are you-” Until they huff at him, grabbing his cock through his jeans and squeezing harshly. 

“You will take what I offer, Alexander.” They growl out dangerously, giving a rub over the bulge he’s made and watching his eyes flutter with sadistic glee. “You have played my game long enough today, I think you deserve a treat.” Alexander can’t stop the way his eyes open briefly in excitement at that word. Treat. Were they really going to- in a restroom??? 

The answer is given when they wait for him to object or whine, satisfied when he just holds still as they sink to their knees. They work quick on the fly of his jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them a bit down on his hips. Normally they’d tease, nuzzle and lick at his flesh for ten to twenty minutes, but they know they must make this quick. 

Bloodhound, instead, sighs at his scent. Nuzzling at his gray boxers where a wet patch lays from his drooling cock. Their tongue slips out, licking at him through the fabric and delight in the way he squirms and places his hands flat on the door behind him. He knew better than to grab, especially when they look at him from under their lashes, taking a long lick upwards and showing glints of their canines. 

Yeah, he knew better than to disobey. 

They don’t tease him long, pulling his boxers down to reveal their prize. Alexander’s cock was certainly large, about as thick as their wrist and eight inches long with a beautiful shiny pink head peeking from foreskin. Freckles dot up the base of his dick into trimmed dark auburn curls. They sigh at the sight of him, nuzzling at his cock from underneath and his cheeks flush from embarrassment. 

Bloodhound loved giving head as much as they liked receiving it. If they could, they would have perhaps made this a show, taken their time. However, it appears Alexander did not have the patience they were expecting from him today. They suppose they couldn’t blame him, not when they had dressed like this and teased him. 

They take his cock in one hand to stroke him languidly, pulling back his foreskin so they can wrap their pretty lips around the head and suck. They lap at the head when precum drools from him, taking him halfway and repeating the motion. Able to watch his head fall back, lips part and struggle to keep quiet. They quite like when he peeks down at them, his cock jerking when they make eye contact briefly before they take him a good ways down their throat and slowly pull back to the head. 

The way he groans out, “Fuck.” under his breath is always such a treat. He tries to be a good boy, they can feel it in how his hips strain not to thrust. But, just in case, their free hand rests on his hip, gripping him hard enough that their nails sink into his plush skin there as a warning. When his hips do wind up twitching, they let their teeth scrape across his sensitive flesh on his cock and relish in the way he lets out a low, unrestrained whine. 

What a masochist. 

As Alexander edges closer, he always watches when he can. Eyes half lidded, peering down at the way they suck on his cock. Pulling off just so they can lick from base to tip from the underside and return back to bobbing their head. His fingers twitch, aching to yank them down and choke on his cock, but the last time he did that he ended up in lingerie and pictures taken of him. And as much as he enjoyed the humiliation, he’s not sure he wants to do it again. 

Yet, before he can cum, they move from him. Wiping off their mouth on the back of their hand, but before he can cry out and ask what they’re doing, they move closer. 

Alexander almost cums when he realizes what they’re doing. One hand wraps around his cock again, stroking as they work down their pants and their underwear. Beginning to jack him off with the head of his cock kissing their lower lips and rubbing against their clit. They offer him a hum, “I would prefer you not to make a mess of Elliott’s bar.” As if explaining their reasoning was as simple as cleanliness. 

Alexander’s nails scrape against the door, a knot building in his abdomen and releasing tension when he cums. He can’t tear his eyes away as he watches himself cum onto their underwear and over their lower lips. A strip of white streaking over their reddened clit that twitches with its own arousal and he almost begs to clean his own mess up. 

With a few last strokes to make sure he was soft enough to tuck away, they help him with his pants as they pull up their underwear and pants as well. Affectionately patting his cheek before they pull back on their mask into place and lower their glasses back down onto their nose. 

The rest of the night, Alexander is hyper aware of any shift Bloodhound does in their seat, and wonders if they’re easing their own arousal. 

When they find him later in the compound outside their door, they laugh and call him insatiable. 

Maybe he was. But when you get someone as wild as Bloodhound in your life, could you blame him?


End file.
